At This Moment
by RoseGabriel
Summary: They graduated from different schools. They moved to different parts of the state. They hadn't spoken in 6 years. Betty begrudgingly agrees to consult for the cast and crew of the show being made about Jughead's bestselling novel, but only on the stipulation that they don't reveal to him anything she says in her interviews. She worries the show will force her to face her ex again.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This fic alludes to past events that are undermined and contradicted by things from Season 2 of Riverdale. This story operates separately from the "Black Hood" story line and really just relies on the general premise of Riverdale in terms of location, characters, and general plot. Assume everything from Season 1 happened in this fic, but nothing from Season 2 unless specified. Enjoy!

Betty straightened a strategically-placed stack of magazines on the coffee table and went to the mirror by the front door, beneath which her keys and a few scarves were hanging. It was the end of a long day in a long week, most of which she'd spent in the newspaper office working on a story rather than at home sleeping, which was starting to show in the dark circles under her eyes and her limp hair. She studied her haggard face in the mirror and pinched some color into her cheeks, sighing at the dismal results before applying a thin coating of pink gloss to her lips. She'd been wearing her hair short since undergrad, cut into an angled lob that was short at the base of her neck and swung forward over her shoulders, framing her face in sleek, sophisticated blonde waves. She nervously smoothed her hands over it and straightened the thin silver chain around her neck.

She was always anxious before they came and exhausted when they left. It had been two months since her last meeting with the cast and crew of the show being made of Jughead's book, but they'd left off interviewing Betty about a particularly low point in her life: the events surrounding Jughead's joining of the Serpents and their subsequent breakup.

Jughead's novel—a fictional rewrite of the events surrounding Jason Blossom's murder and the resulting fallout—had been a New York Times Bestseller, and he'd since written three more unrelated novels that had also done astoundingly well. Betty had not been surprised. She had always known Jughead was an excellent writer. It was only within the last two years that a television network had picked up the rights to his novel, _Riverdale_ , and began pre-production.

At first, Betty hadn't wanted to participate in the project. News of Jughead's success was already splattered everywhere she looked like grease that wouldn't wash out, and it made her feel sick. But Archie had stopped by her apartment one day—sans Veronica for once—and made a plea on Jughead's behalf.

"Don't you think this will bring some kind of closure?" he'd asked. "We're all committed to the project, Betty. You're the only major player they're waiting on. And besides, it pays really well. I'm sure you could use the money." He had tried to keep his eyes from flitting around her shabby apartment, but she'd caught it anyway.

Betty taught journalism classes while pursuing her Master's degree at a small, private college in upstate New York. It was the same university she'd attended as an undergraduate, and though she felt a bit like she was stagnating there, when they'd offered her an assistantship and she had no other viable options, she chose to look at it as a positive, character-building experience. So far, she'd avoided sleeping with any of her students and had done a complete overhaul of the campus newspaper, so she felt she'd been met with success.

She could hear their voices coming up the stairs and she dashed away from the door so it wouldn't seem like she was hovering there waiting for them. When someone knocked, she took her time to answer, scanning the room to be sure everything was as chic and tidy as possible. She'd made them sign an agreement not to share anything about her interviews with Jughead, but if something happened to slip out about her apartment, she wanted him to know that she was doing just fine.

The creator, writer, and director, Alfonso, was in the hallway, as were the four young actors that usually came, those who were playing her and Jughead, and Archie and Veronica.

"Hey, Betts," Adam greeted her, grinning, kissing her on the forehead and pushing his way into the room. He wasn't what Betty would call a method actor, but he treated her with more familiarity than the others did. Playing her ex-boyfriend, even in a fictional capacity, seemed to have emboldened him.

"Hi, Adam," she smiled brightly and shook her head, then greeted Danny, the actor who was playing Archie.

"Betty, how are you," bubbled Emily, who was playing Veronica. "You look so cute, I love that skirt!" She flicked her dark hair out of her eyes and strutted into the apartment. She was very well-cast.

"Hi, Kate," Betty smiled at the girl playing her, still jarred by their similar features and by the concept that an actress was going to portray her in a TV show. Kate patted her arm warmly but was more subdued that Emily.

"I saw an Italian place across the street on our way in," Alfonso was saying from behind her. "Is it any good?"

"It's alright," Betty answered. "If you have the time, there's a better place about 20 minutes from here. I'll give you directions before you go."

"We got a hotel room this time," he answered as he took his place in one of the two recliners Betty had once saved from a curb-side trash heap. "So we have all the time in the world. We didn't want to rush this interview," he added, winking at her. Her stomach dropped. She'd been hoping he'd forgotten where they'd left off, even though she knew he took copious notes. Kate, Emily, Danny, and Adam squeezed onto the couch, leaving the last remaining recliner for Betty. Kate pulled out her phone to take notes like she sometimes did. Adam was leaned forward with his hands falling loosely between his knees, studying Betty. She could feel his eyes on her face. Not knowing what else to do, she met his gaze and smiled.

"We just left Jughead this morning to come here," he said. Everyone else in room started and looked at him all at once. Betty felt herself stiffen.

"Oh. And how is he?"

"He's alright. I think he's lonely."

Emily, who was sitting directly next to him, elbowed him hard in the side, her eyes boring into his. He didn't respond.

"That must be hard for him," Betty answered tightly. She looked to Alfonso. "You want to get started?" she asked.

"Sure, if you're ready. I understand tonight may be difficult for you. Know that our agreement still stands—we won't reveal any of what you say to Jughead without your permission. And you get to see the final script. We can take a break whenever you need to. Alright?"

She nodded.

"We ready?" he asked the foursome seated on the couch.

"And rearing," Adam confirmed. The other three offered their consent as well, if not somewhat less enthusiastically. Alfonso shot a look at Adam and then turned back to Betty.

"When we left off, it was discussing Jughead joining the Southside Serpents. It was your junior year of high school and he'd just transferred to Southside High. You said the change came over him almost instantly."

Betty sighed and settled against the back of her chair, crossing her legs at the ankles and holding her hands together tightly in her lap. It was something she did to keep from digging her nails into her palms.

"I don't know about that exactly," she said. "I mean, the Serpents came by FP's trailer and gave him the jacket, but he didn't start wearing it right away. It took him about a month to get sucked in."

"Sucked in, that's an interesting choice of words. What do you mean by that?"

"He didn't even want to be in a gang, Jughead's not like that. But he was so vulnerable after FP got arrested and I think he felt really alone. And he felt like they needed him. He saw the hole where FP used to be and felt like it was his job to fill it."

"Did you know he was considering joining the Serpents?"

It was getting darker outside and Betty had all the lights on in the living room, including the floor lamp and the two table-top lamps on either end of the couch. Lighting up the room made her feel less threatened, hard as it was to talk about the days when her life had quite literally been in danger at every turn. She thought about her life now, running the school newspaper and socializing with the other regular, boring graduate students. Even though she hadn't given up hard-hitting investigative journalism, no story had come close to getting her into the kind of danger she'd seen every day in Riverdale.

"I didn't know anything." She answered finally. "Jughead kept trying to tell me that everything was fine when he transferred schools and that nothing would change, but I went from seeing him every day to seeing him once a week at best, usually once every couple of weeks. And when I did see him I could tell there were things going on that he wasn't telling me about."

"Like what?"

"Just things at school. He got jumped in his first few weeks and told me he'd wrecked his bike. He didn't want me to know. I guess he didn't want me to worry."

"That was Toni's idea, wasn't it?" Alfonso asked, looking down at the legal pad in his lap and flipping back a few pages to what must have been notes from Jughead's interview. Betty would have loved to get a look at those notes. She shoved that thought out of her head.

"Sorry, what?"

"Toni Topaz. She encouraged Jughead to keep things from you, didn't she?"

Betty chewed on the corner of her lip. She was aware of all the eyes in the room being intent on her face.

"Maybe. I don't know what they talked about."

"'They' being Toni and Jughead."

"Yes."

"Do you blame Toni for corrupting him?"

"Jesus, Alfonso," Adam interrupted, "what the hell kind of line of questioning is that?"

"It's okay," Betty said hotly, but Alfonso apologized and there was a brief pause while he read back through whatever he'd been writing since they'd begun.

"Betty," Adam said, "why don't you just talk a little bit about that time, would that work? Then," he added, turning to Alfonso who was starting to object, "we can ask any question we have about the specifics."

"Sure," Alfonso said begrudgingly. "If you'd feel more comfortable we can do it that way."

"Okay," Betty agreed, taking a deep breath. "That sounds okay." She looked down into her lap and plucked idly at a thread loosening in the seam of her skirt.

"For the record, I don't blame Toni for _corrupting_ Jughead. He'd been on his own for a long time and was capable of making his own decisions. I think she encouraged him to join the Serpents. I think she gave him the validation he needed to go through with a decision he was already considering."

"What about the Serpents do you think appealed to Jughead?" Alfonso asked.

Betty thought for a moment. "I guess the sense of family. Juggie never really had that. The thought that he could be part of this group of people who were always looking out for each other no matter what probably really appealed to him. But more than that I think he felt an obligation to join. That's the thing about Jughead—he's such a martyr. He has no idea how to take care of himself or how to let himself be happy. When given the choice between being happy and suffering, he will always punish himself."

"That's interesting," Adam interrupted, leaning forward toward her again. "Why do you think that is?"

"Because of who he is, how he grew up. He just got used to taking care of everyone else and never stopped. Just look at his relationship with his dad."

Adam nodded and Alfonso went on scribbling on his legal pad. Kate tapped something into her phone. Emily was filing her nails. Danny had his arms stretched across the back of the couch and his head leaned back toward the ceiling, but he appeared to be listening.

"The thing about Jughead," Betty said carefully, "is that he will do anything for anyone. He wants to take care of everyone, which is impossible, and he doesn't mind sacrificing himself to do it. And you think that means that he'll take care of you, but he'll sacrifice you too, if he needs to. It's just who he is."

"Did he sacrifice you?" Kate asked.

Betty shrugged and didn't answer. She picked at a hangnail.

"So what do you think it was that caused Jughead to sleep with Toni when the two of you were still together?" Adam asked. The entire room turned to look at him again.

Betty felt her mouth slip open but she clamped it shut again. She hadn't ever known for sure the extent of what had happened between Toni and Jughead. The room was quiet.

"How long had you two been dating when that happened?" Alfonso said finally, seemingly confirming what Adam had said. Betty gritted her teeth.

"8 months."

"And what did you do when you found out?"

"I didn't know for sure that they had slept together until just now."

Kate reached out and touched the arm of the chair she was sitting in but didn't touch Betty. She tilted her head apologetically.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Betty," Adam said sincerely, stretching out to lay his hand over hers. She resisted the urge to yank herself away. "I thought you knew."

"It's alright."

"Do we need a break?" Alfonso asked.

"No, I'm fine."

"Okay," Alfonso said gently, uncertainly. "So you knew something had happened between Toni and Jughead but not what exactly."

"That's right."

"And you knew that Jughead had officially joined the Serpents."

"Yes."

"Which thing was it, do you think, that really pushed it over the edge for you? What happened the night you broke up?"

Betty had already texted Jughead five or six times that day with no reply, and she felt a tension about it that she couldn't really put her finger on. After dinner, as soon as she could, she'd borrowed her mom's car without asking and driven across town, over the tracks, through the Southside to FP's trailer. She felt anxious the whole drive over and kept checking her phone to see if he'd answered her, but she didn't really know what she was expecting to find. When she pulled up next to the trailer and saw a familiar bike parked next to Jughead's, she'd frozen in horror.

Betty hesitated in the car just long enough for the trailer door to open, revealing Toni Topaz with her back to the dark night, straining up on her boot-clad toes to reach Jughead's lips. But he'd already seen Betty in the car over Toni's head and he pushed her away quickly, lowering an ice pack from his forehead and stepping out onto the porch in his jeans and undershirt. Betty had never seen him actually look scared. Usually he hid it so well with a scowl. Toni swiveled on one foot and locked eyes with Betty. Her mouth set into a hard line and she crossed her arms over her chest and glared. Betty yanked the keys out of the ignition and slammed the car door.

"What the hell is this, Juggie?" she demanded, stomping up the frail wooden steps.

"This isn't really a good time, sweetheart," Toni said icily. "I think you should go."

"Oh, you think _I_ should go? Really? Me? I'm his girlfriend, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Hey," Jughead said, stepping in between them. "Come on, don't do this."

"Don't do what?" Betty shouted, throwing her hands up in the air.

"I think you know, bitch," Toni snapped back, pushing past Jughead to get in her face. Jughead grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back, dipping his head down to block her view of Betty.

"Not now, Toni," he muttered softly, in a way that hurt Betty more than anything that had happened so far. "Please just leave. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? Please."

Toni glared again at Betty and shoved past her. She'd rattled off on her bike by the time Betty was in the trailer with the door closed.

She took in the person standing in front of her. Jughead's face was so bruised and swollen it was almost unrecognizable. His dark bangs swooped down over a black eye and there was a line of cuts on his cheek bone. She could see bruises over his collarbone and leading down past the neckline of his undershirt. His right shoulder was also red and puffy, wrapped in plastic wrap. Through the clear cover, she saw a snake coiling against his arm in black ink. Betty gasped and took a step back toward the door.

"Betty," Jughead said softly. But it was like he knew it was too late. He didn't make any move toward her.

"What did you do." she whispered.

"You know what I did." He answered.

"And her?" she asked. She felt a hot tear sliding down her cheek and wiped it away angrily.

Jughead didn't say anything.

"What about me?"

Again, he didn't answer. Betty choked back a sob and dropped her head, shaking it from side to side.

"How could you do this?"

"I'm sorry," he said, but his voice was hard and unrepentant. "I didn't want you to find out this way."

"Find out which part?" she demanded. "About the Serpents or about _her_?"

"Both," he answered simply.

"You know, don't you," she said, growing angry again, stepping back until she felt the door behind her, shaking her rage-filled head at him. "What this means. What it means for us. You knew when you did it."

He was silent again. He glared at her. Betty's clutched uselessly at the sleeves of her jacket which were reaching down into her palms. She wretched open the door behind her and ran back to her mother's car.

Two days later, on an unseasonably warm day when she'd left her window open during the afternoon, she returned to her bedroom to find the things she'd left at Jughead's lined up in the middle of the bed. A rain jacket. A pale yellow hair band. Three bobby pins. One gray wool sock. A notebook full of stories they'd worked on together for the Blue and Gold. She'd thrown it all away.

They graduated from different schools. They moved to different parts of the state. They hadn't spoken in six years.


	2. Chapter 2

It was late. Because the interview was taking longer than anyone could've predicted, Alfonso had ordered pizza on the studio's dime and they'd eaten together clustered around Betty's small table. The cast was kind enough but she always felt very removed from them, both because the four of them knew each other so much better than she knew any of them, and because she sort of felt like a monkey fraternizing with the zoo keepers. She was mostly quiet at dinner. The interviews were cathartic, she'd found, forcing her to vocalize things that she was still coming to terms with, but they were also exhausting. She was tired down to her bones. Her throat was scratchy from talking so much and her eyes burned like she'd been awake for days.

Back on the couch, Emily let her head lull against Danny's shoulder. Kate was slumped down into the cushions next to her. Adam was settled back comfortably but still alert. Alfonso flexed the fingers on his note-taking hand.

"We're almost done, Betty," he assured her. "As always, we appreciate your candor. Not all of your friends are as forthcoming as you are."

"Juggy," she clarified knowingly. Alfonso nodded his confirmation.

"He's always been a private person," Betty said.

"I'm curious, Betty," Alfonso said. "Because you knew him so much better than most did when he was starting the novel. What do you think makes Jughead a good writer?

"Ah," A small smile spread across her lips. "I always knew he'd do well. He has such a knack for it. I'm a writer myself, though of a different kind, of course, being a journalist. But I can attest first-hand that not very many people can write such real, empathetic characters the way he can. And he treats them with such dignity. He's experienced so much himself; he's always had a gift for putting that into writing."

Alfonso started to reply, but Adam interrupted him.

"You know, I can see why he likes you. You're just really candid and you come across as so genuine. And of course you're smart and beautiful—it's no wonder Jughead went for you."

Betty blushed but she'd heard similar lines before. She had been surprised, once she got to college, that someone like her could make heads turn.

"Thanks, Adam," she said dryly. Alfonso shrugged and shook his head.

"No, really!" Adam insisted. "I mean, to hear him talk about you it's like you're a fucking revelation. But the more I get to know you the more I agree with him."

Betty's stomach flipped. Adam had said 'to hear him talk' like it was happening currently. Like Jughead still thought those things about her. But if that were true, wouldn't he have reached out? He had let her walk away six years ago and he hadn't made any attempt to reconcile. That had hurt her just as much as the initial betrayal. She'd always been angry at herself for continuing to mourn his loss after they'd broken up, feeling like he didn't deserve to be missed, feeling like he had cast her aside and moved on. To hear Adam talk, some part of him seemed to still think well of her. That was important. They were over and had been for years. He had hurt her. But Betty had never stopped liking Jughead as a person, as an idea and an institution, even. She wanted to know that he thought she was good, too.

"I'd like to make you aware of something we have in the works," Alfonso said as the five of them were standing, stretching, gathering their things to leave around 11.

"Okay?"

"They want the town to be on board with the show. They're hoping to shoot some scenes on location and they need a lot of local cooperation. Because of that, the studio is having kind of a festival to celebrate Jughead's book and to formally announce the show."

"A _festival_?" Jughead Jones was a bestselling author. They were making a show about one of his novels, for which he'd get paid. Now he was getting a festival. The whole thing hardly seemed like the karma he deserved.

"I know, I know," Alfonso agreed, putting his hands up like she had a gun to his face. "It's a little extreme. But it should be fun. They're reopening Pop's for the day—I hear Pop Tate himself is even coming out of retirement to cook. Josie and the Pussycats are performing, Jughead is giving a reading from the novel, and Archie and Veronica are going to perform a duet from their EP."

"Wow," Betty grumbled. "The whole gang's getting back together."

"I'll be straight with you, Betty," Alfonso said, straightening with his bag over his shoulder and facing her. "We need you there. The studio really wants to present a united front on this one. All the other major players are on board, but we need you."

Betty hadn't been to Riverdale in two years. She had cut almost all ties with her toxic mother and only saw Polly and the twins. The whole town was an open wound for her—Pop's closed, her friends moved away, Jughead on every corner, the trauma of her high school years in every shadow—she tried to avoid the place at all costs.

"You're Betty Cooper," Alfonso said. "You're one of the stars of the novel, one might even say the leading lady."

"Don't suck up, Alfonso," she scoffed.

"No, no, I'm not. I know it's been a long time since you went back. Don't you think it's time? This could be the perfect opportunity for closure."

Betty was quiet. Her body was like lead, her feet pulling her into the floorboards.

"Fine," she said finally. "I'd love to see Pop again. I'll go on one condition."

"Of course—anything for Betty Cooper."

"It sounds like everyone is getting a slot to perform—I want one, too."

"Nothing weird, right? No pig's blood or anything?"

"No _Carrie_ repeats, I promise. I want to sing."

"Is that all? I'm sure that can be arranged."

As they five of them were walking out, Alfonso handed her an envelope of cash and thanked her for another fruitful interview. When she'd closed the door after them, Betty thumbed through the envelope guiltily. She tossed it onto the kitchen table, which was cluttered with pizza boxes, and reached for her phone.

You up?

I'm outside

Betty unlocked her door and waited. A few minutes later, heavy boots scuffed across the landing outside her door and the knob turned. A figure all in black stepped inside and closed and locked the door behind himself.

"How did you know to be here?" Betty asked.

Sweet Pea was already shrugging out of his Serpents jacket, tossing it onto her couch.

"You always wanna see me after these things," he smirked, gesturing at the room. Betty swallowed and looked down, crossing her arms.

"I don't mind," he continued in a low voice, walking intentionally toward her. "I don't care when you text or why. I don't care if it's about Jughead."

"He still doesn't know," Betty murmured.

"No. Business takes me all over this part of the country. He doesn't always know where I am or why." He stopped in front of her and reached up to uncross her arms, then raised her chin with a rough hand.

"What'll it be tonight, Betty?" he asked. "Silk or lace? Snakes or pearls?"

She didn't answer. She was glad he was with her. She needed someone. But she was so tired and she felt empty and anxious and instead of reaching for his belt buckle, she reached her arms around him and nestled her head in beneath his chin. Sweet Pea seemed startled but he put his arms around her obediently and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"It's alright, Baby." He said softly.

"I'm glad you're here," Betty said. She lowered her hands, already behind him, to the hem of his shirt and pulled it off over his head.

"Me too," he answered, bending to kiss her. She let his shirt fall from her hands and pulled her own off over her head. Sweet Pea's hands were hot on her hips. He pushed against her and she began moving them slowly backwards towards her bedroom. He reached down and scooped her up, carrying her the rest of the way as she wrapped her legs around his waist, continuing to kiss him. The motions were familiar to her, like the time she'd almost been with Jughead. Sweet Pea wasn't anything like Jughead.

He lowered her onto the bed and kicked the door shut behind them without turning. Betty reached over her head to switch one of the lamps on.

"Don't," Sweet Pea whispered. He caught her wrist and pinned it over her head, reaching to pin the other one in place. He leaned down and sucked on her ear lobe. Sometimes this was something Betty loved—his dominance over her, her muscles straining against his, her body fighting for control. Tonight she just ached for him, for someone to be close to her. She didn't push against his hold on her, and he seemed to notice. He let her wrists go. They crawled up to the head of the bed and lay down on their sides, looking at each other.

"Do you even want me here?" he asked.

"I told you I do."

"But do you?"

Betty didn't answer, but shimmied her skirt over her hips and kicked it away, pressed herself against him to unclasp her bra and drop it down next to the bed. Sweet Pea reached for his belt and resumed kissing her.


	3. Chapter 3

Betty woke much earlier than usual to the sun filtering in between the slats of her blinds. She'd been too busy the night before to pull closed her blackout curtains and it had always been hard for her to sleep with any light in the room. She turned her head to find Sweet Pea stretched out on his stomach, the pillow pushed up above his head, his cheek flat against the crook of his elbow. His dark hair curtained his face. He was lying on top of the covers, shirtless but in his jeans. Betty scoffed quietly and shook her head, rolling to her side and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She pulled Sweet Pea's t-shirt down as she stood, tugging the hem as low as it would go, and tip-toed around the rest of their strewn clothes to the window, where she pulled the curtains closed and plunged the room into darkness. Unable to see her way back, Betty put her arms out and felt along the way, then the bedside table, then reached for the mattress and lowered herself back down as gently as she could.

"Marco," Sweet Pea grumbled in her ear. He always woke up. Betty suspected it had something to do with his past and his lifestyle that no amount a creeping was sufficient to keep from waking him.

"Isn't that my line? And you're supposed to say 'Polo'?" Betty teased, smiling at him as she shimmied back under the covers.

"Fine. Polo."

The bed shifted and Betty felt Sweet Pea's arm fall across her stomach.

"I'm surprised you're still here. I thought you'd be long-gone by now," she said.

"What time is it?"

Betty checked her phone.

"6:15"

"Hell no. I don't have to leave for a few hours."

"You're not usually still around when I wake up, though," Betty persisted, turning onto her side to face him, cushioning her cheek with one hand and searching the darkness where she guessed his face must be.

"That's because you usually wake up much later," Sweet Pea answered, and suddenly his breath was hot on her nose and she felt his lips on hers. Seeing it was useless trying to get a straight answer out of him, Betty altered her line of questioning.

"I don't remember you wearing your jeans to be before. And I don't remember you putting them back on after…everything."

"I went out for a smoke after you fell asleep."

"Ah."

"If it bothers you that much, Miss Cooper…"

The mattress bounced as Betty heard the metallic schwip of his zipper and then the stiff crinkle of denim as he kicked the jeans off.

"Better?"

"Oh, much."

His arm was warm on her stomach again and he pressed his forehead to hers.

"Feeling better today?"

Betty was quiet for a moment, poking around in her chest to uncover how she felt.

"Yes," she said finally. "I think I am."

"Good."

They lay quietly for a while. Betty could feel Sweet Pea's breathing even out again.

"Are you asleep?" she asked.

"No," he grunted.

Betty reached out and felt for the waistband of his boxers. She pushed her hand past the elastic and gripped his cock, still stiffened from sleep.

"Now I am definitely not asleep."

"Good. Me neither." She tugged her encircled fingers around the shaft and heard Sweet Pea's breath hitch. Then he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, and tugged his shirt off of her. He bent his lips to first one nipple, then the other. Betty tossed her head back and ground her hips against the thin fabric of his boxers. Her own underwear was hot and wet. Sweet Pea gripped her breasts and rolled them under his palms, thrusting his hips against her. Betty whisked his boxers down and rubbed the wet cotton of her underwear against the head of his cock. He lifted her up with one arm and flipped her over, kneeling over her to tug her panties down. He shoved each of her legs impatiently to the side and plunged into her, jerking her entire body up into the wall above the bed as she gasped and clenched her eyes shut.

He thrust into her a few times and then eased back, extracting himself until only the very tip of his penis stroked against her. Betty groped helplessly as his broad shoulders, urging him on, but he didn't move. She could practically hear him smirking even though she could not see it in the dark.

"Tell me something, Betty Copper," he breathed from somewhere above her.

"What?"

He leaned down, inches from her face, hands flat on the mattress on either side of her, cock caressing her open legs.

"What is the one thing you want most in the world right now?"

"Asshole."

"Really? Well if you insist."

"No, not that! _You're_ an asshole."

"I know."

Betty tried to jerk up against him but he pulled back in time. He flicked his tongue across her bottom lip.

"Say it."

Betty huffed and gripped the base of his back, tugging him toward her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him in.

"Say it," he ordered, strong enough to still be hovering just out of reach.

"Fine. I want your southside serpent inside of me."

"Yes, fuck yes you do," Sweet Pea crowed with glee, and he gave her what she wanted.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time Betty woke, Sweet Pea was gone. She stretched and rolled onto her side, feeling for her cell phone on the bedside table.

She had a text from him, which she'd received about an hour before: _Glad I came over last night. Hope to see you again soon ;)_

Despite being someone she could never sneak past, he almost always managed to slip out without waking her. She'd given him his shirt back after their early-morning round 2, so even that hadn't interfered with her sleep.

Betty texted Archie and Veronica, asking if they wanted to meet up with her for brunch, then felt for the floor with her toes and got up, crossing to pull back the blackout curtains and prove to herself that day existed. The room exploded immediately, yellow-tinted through the blinds instead of dusty blue. Turning, she saw the path of her strewn clothes from the night before, looking lonely and out-of-place without Sweet Pea's to accompany them. She opened the bedroom door and went into the bathroom to start the shower, letting it warm as she walked back into the heart of the apartment to start the coffee pot. She gripped the edge of the sofa on her way past and realized she was clutching a fistful of Sweet Pea's Serpents jacket, left hanging on the edge of the couch. This was something he had never left behind before—a stray sock here and there, but his Serpents jacket? He barely let it out of his sight. It had never occurred to her to wonder what would happen if he lost it—would he be in trouble with the Serpents?

With the coffee pot started and the shower running, Betty grabbed her phone from the bedroom on her way back into the bathroom and dialed his number. She climbed into the shower, her back to the water to shelter her cell phone, and listened to the ringing on the other end while steam circled her legs and thickened in her nostrils.

"Hello?" Sweet Pea answered, out of breath.

"Hi, it's Betty. Why do you sound like you've been running?"

"Not running," he answered. "Riding. I had to pull over to take your call. What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Betty shifted from side to side so the hot water could pelt first one shoulder blade and then the other.

"You never call," Sweet Pea said on the other end of the line. She could hear, now, the cars passing him in the background.

"You left your jacket here."

"What?"

"Your Serpents jacket. You left it on my couch."

"Oh, yeah." He said. His voice seemed stiff suddenly, even through the phone. "I thought you might want to wear it."

Betty laughed a little.

"Wear it? What? What about you? What happens to a Serpent who loses his jacket?"

"It's not lost, it's loaned. Besides, I have more than one. Wouldn't be very practical otherwise."

"I guess not."

"I just thought," Sweet Pea cleared his throat and forced all the air out in a gust that crackled in her ear. "I thought you might wear it."

Betty reached back and cranked the shower off, then sat down, naked and wet, in the tub. She was grateful Sweet Pea couldn't see her as she shook her head, incredulous and open-mouthed, and scrambled to think of something to say. The only thing going through her mind was what it would mean for her to wear his jacket—some kind of claiming, an ownership. It would signal that she was affiliated with him, somehow. That she was his.

"Look, no big deal if you don't wanna," he interrupted, interpreting her silence over the line. "I'll just grab it next time I'm there. No problem."

"Sweet Pea," Betty stammered, feeling guilty and wildly uncomfortable and very cold as she drip-dried in the tub. "I thought…I mean, I just never thought of us that way—"

"No, no, me neither, not at all. We're just having fun, I get that, believe me. And I like it. We've got a good thing goin. Look, forget it, okay? Just forget it."

"Maybe we can talk later," Betty suggested. "When you get back to Riverdale."

"Sure," he answered. "I'll give you a call later tonight after I get in."

"Sounds good," she agreed, though she knew he wouldn't call.

"Kay. Talk to you later, then."

"Yeah."

Betty hung up. Archie had texted back confirming he and Veronica would be at brunch. Betty set her phone on the corner of the sink and pulled the shower curtain closed again, turning the water back on and plunging head-first into the stream.

Sometime after 1pm, Betty let herself back into the apartment with leftovers and the smell of fried potatoes on her sweater and in her hair. She closed and locked the door behind her and took the Styrofoam box to the fridge. When she turned to toss her purse onto the couch, her eyes fell on Sweet Pea's jacket. She lowered her purse down over the back of the couch and picked the jacket up, the worn, creased leather soft in her hands. Hesitantly, she crossed the room pulled it on, studying herself in the mirror by the door. The shoulder seams of the jacket hung half-way down her arms and both sides of the collar slumped together over her chest. It was cool on her skin. She pressed an arm to her nose and breathed in the faint smell of booze and cigarette smoke. There had been a time in her life where she would have given anything to be in a jacket just like this, if not a little smaller and a little less well-worn.

After she and Jughead had broken up, she'd thought if she could only have embraced the Serpents things would have been different. If she hadn't forced him to choose, to take sides, maybe he could have had it both ways. How many times had she stood in her childhood bedroom, sloped in front of the full-length mirror with dark eyeliner caging her eyes and burgundy lipstick staining her lips, dressed in tight leather and fishnets, picturing Jughead Jones at her side, a motorcycle helmet under one arm, the other resting around her waist? She had accepted her part in their destruction. She understood what she'd put him through. But Toni—Toni was something she couldn't forgive.

Betty let the jacket slide down her arms, catching it before it hit the floor, and lay it back over the arm of the couch.

At brunch, she'd asked Archie to help her with her act for the Riverdale Carnival; she had the perfect song picked out and just needed some accompaniment. He had been resistant at first.

"Are you sure that's what you want to sing, Betty? Roni and I are doing an original—it's more happy and upbeat. This is kind of a festival, I think, you know? Are you sure that's what you want to do?"

Veronica, though, had been supportive. She seemed to understand, without confirming it aloud and without Betty saying anything, what was at stake.

Betty went into her bedroom, crossed to the desk, and lifted the screen of her laptop to wake it from its self-induced sleep. Typing the song's title into the search bar, she pulled up the lyrics and leaned back in her desk chair, eyes trailing over each line. It was perfect. It would break Jughead's heart.


	5. Chapter 5

That evening, Betty was boiling pasta on the stove while pesto chicken cooled at her elbow. She twisted the tie off a loaf of sourdough bread and ripped off a chunk, plating it for herself. Behind her, on the coffee table, the lyrics for the song she'd chosen were printed out, pages spread atop the coasters and magazines. She hummed it to herself lowly, practicing.

When someone knocked at the door, she jumped. She checked her phone but no one had called or texted. Not for the first time, she lamented not having a peephole in the door as she unlocked it, turned the knob, and pulled it aside. Sweet Pea was lounging in the hallway, gazing up at her from under the dark swoop of his hair.

"Hey, Babe."

"Hi," Betty stammered back in surprise, stepping aside as he strode past her into the apartment.

"I thought you were back in Riverdale tonight."

"I was. But you were only just out of my way and I wanted to see you again," he answered, turning to pull her to him. He tipped his head to the side, smirking down at her. "Can you blame me for that?"

Betty smiled in spite of herself and stretched up on her toes to kiss him, his arms wrapped around her waist. Sweet Pea seemed eager not to break the kiss, leaning down into her, forcing her lips apart with his own, but Betty pulled back.

"Why are you really here?" she asked.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" he grinned.

"You know me."

He dropped his arms and turned, walking further into the apartment.

"I didn't want anything to be weird after earlier," he said, then nodded toward the jacket draped over the arm of the couch. He faced her again, shaking his head.

"Betty, I didn't mean anything by leaving it. Sorry I made it weird."

"No, no," she insisted. "Don't worry. It's not weird." She was lying a little, but she could see how much he wanted to forget the awkwardness. Betty wasn't sure what it meant for her, for them, that he'd left his jacket there. In some ways, their casual arrangement had been broken by such a move. But if he was willing to get himself in check and resume the meaningless sex they both enjoyed, she was willing to give him the chance to do so.

"Are you staying tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah, if it's alright."

"Yes. Definitely." She traipsed over and leaned up to kiss him again, smiling against his lips.

"I just finished making dinner. You'll eat with me?"

Betty took another plate down from the cabinet and dished up the pasta and pesto chicken. She tore another chunk of bread from the loaf and balanced it on the rim of Sweet Pea's plate, then turned with the two plates in her hand to set them on the kitchen table. Sweet Pea was standing over her coffee table, holding a sheet of paper in his hand.

"What's this?"

"What? Oh, I'm going to sing at that stupid festival in Riverdale."

"You're coming?"

"Yeah," she set the plates down, pulled her chair out and sat down, not waiting for him. "It didn't feel very optional."

"I'm glad," he answered, swiveling at the waist to see her. "It should be fun. We can go together."

Betty bit back a response reminding him of their no-strings-attached arrangement. Instead, she said nothing and lifted a forkful of twirled pasta to her mouth, pursuing her lips to blow it cool.

"Wait, you're singing this song?" Sweet Pea asked, his brow suddenly furrowing as he brought the page closer to his face.

"Yeah, why?"

He scoffed a little, his mouth hardening into a line.

"This is for Jughead, then. It's all for him."

"What?" Betty rested her fork on the edge of her plate but didn't get up. "Sweets, it's just a song."

"It isn't," he insisted. "Is this how you feel? You said it was over with him."

"Well what do you care?" she demanded, feeling the color rising into her cheeks and painting her throat. "It is over, it's been over for _years_. Calm down."

He licked his lips and shook his head. " _This_ ," he shook the page in the air, "does not seem very 'over' to me."

"Jesus, Sweet Pea, what's it to you? What's _with_ you?"

He crumpled the paper up in his hand and let it fall to the floor, reaching forward to swipe his jacket from the couch, pulling it on, storming toward the door.

"You know what, Betty, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I enjoy your company. I'm sorry I thought you enjoyed mine."

"Don't be dramatic. You know I do."

He spun around to jab a finger in her direction. "I'm not asking you to marry me, Betty. I just…" he struggled to find the words. She did feel sorry for him, seeing his discomfort, watching him flounder. She stood up from the table. He waited for her to reach him by the door, reaching for his hands, which he unwillingly let her take in hers.

"We need to talk about this, don't we?" she said more than asked. He laughed hollowly, angrily, shaking his head.

"No. I'll get it together."

"Sweets," she reached for his face. He pushed her hand away, pulling back at the same time.

"I'm gonna go," he said flatly. He wasn't looking at her anymore but into the room just past her head. "I'm sorry I fucked everything up."

"You didn't," Betty insisted. "I promise. Nothing has changed."

"But it has," he huffed, frustrated. His head fell and he shook it from side to side, sucking air in through his mouth. She didn't like seeing him that way. Aside from making her feel bad, it made her feel uncomfortable. He was her rough-and-tumble Serpent—he whispered things in her ear that shouldn't ever be said aloud; his rough hands pawed at her body in ways that never should have been allowed to happen. The wrongness of it was always what drew her to him. If Jughead had ever found out that they were fucking…she couldn't lose the thrill of that.

"Look," Betty reached for him again, lifting his chin with one hand, pulling him closer with the other. "I don't want to lose this." She pressed her body against his chest to show what she meant. His eyes fluttered closed.

"I like this. I like being with you. In every way," she added, nuzzling along his chin. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"When we started this we agreed it was just sex. That hasn't changed for me. Has it changed for you? Is that not good enough anymore?"

He huffed out a sigh. "No, it is. It is. Promise."

She could see his eyes clearing; he straightened to his full height instead of slumping dejectedly against her.

"What man wouldn't want this?" he murmured lowly, himself again, reaching out to grip her hips. He bent his lips to hers.

"Go eat," she commanded. She hooked her thumbs under the edge of this jacket and pulled it from his arms, folding it over her own and turning to walk toward the bedroom. He tilted his head quizzically to the side.

"Go on," she teased, nodding toward the table.

He was sitting at his plate a few minutes later when she reemerged from the bedroom wearing his jacket and little else. The cool leather rubbed her bare nipples into hard knots, the hem of the jacket brushing against the very tops of her thighs. She wore black lace panties and black thigh-highs gripped her smooth, white legs. She'd grown into Dark Betty as she matured—she didn't need the cheap black wig anymore. Her own sleek, blonde hair framed her sultry face. Sweet Pea looked up from his plate and his eyebrows raised appreciatively, a smirk spreading across his lips as he chewed and swallowed his bite. Betty leaned against the bedroom doorframe, one arm stretched above her head, and arched her back. His chair scraped the floor as he stood, stalking toward her, his eyes roaming her body—the line of bare skin exposed between the unzipped flaps of his jacket, her body splayed in the doorway.

"Sweets," she pouted as he neared her, his hands immediately pulling her into his chest.

"Yeah, Baby," he growled, dipping his head to take the skin of her neck gently between his teeth, grazing her.

"Say, hypothetically, I did want to become a Serpent. How would I do that?"

He grinned against her neck.

"Dance," he said.

"What?"

"You have to dance."

She was sure from his eyes, clouded with desire, that she knew what he meant. With a fistful of his shirt, she pulled him back into the bedroom, their foreheads pressed together, and spun at the last minute to push him onto her bed. He sat on the edge with his feet planted firmly on the floor. Betty stepped back and began humming lowly, her back to him, hips swishing from side to side. She spread her legs and bent to press her palms to the floor, still humming. When she turned back to be sure he was still watching, his lips were parted hungrily and his eyes raked over her body. His hands were folded in his lap.

"Like this?" Betty purred, draping her arms around his neck and swaying in front of him, her breasts pushing against the soft leather to brush his chest. Sweet Pea gripped her hips and stood up suddenly, spinning her roughly and pushing her against the nearest wall so quickly Betty gasped in surprise. He pressed his lips to her ear.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yes," she breathed, nodding. He planted one hand in the center of her back to keep her flush against the wall. The other trailed down over her spine, brushing across her backside, and stopped upon reaching the gap of her thighs. Sweet Pea leaned in, his hand dipping between her legs, brushing against her through the black lace that was the only thing separating them.

"You alright?" he whispered again, sucking on her earlobe.

"Yes."

She turned her face to reach his lips. He smiled against her. His lowered hand continued to brush lightly against her through her underwear. Betty arched her back, straining her hips to deepen the contact, but he pushed her back flush to the wall, pinning her.

"Don't move," he ordered. He kissed down her neck to the collar of his jacket, then yanked it down so that it fell from her shoulders and onto his boots. He kicked it aside. He pressed his lips over her shoulders, down her back. One finger continued to rub against her underwear. He reached his other hand around and gripped a fistful of her breast, causing her to gasp, her eyes to squeeze shut. Sweet pea continued trailing his lips down her spine. When he reached her tailbone, he sucked lightly at the dimples on her lower back. The hand at her breast lowered to her hips to pull them out from the wall. Then, with both hands, he worked her underwear off over her ass, thighs, let them drop to the floor. She stood naked except for the thin thigh-highs, hard nipples pressed to the cold wall, breathing heavily, her hips straining back for him. He dropped to his knees behind her and cupped her ass cheeks with his hands, then spread them aside. He leaned his face forward, pressing into her quivering core with his tongue. Betty gasped.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you so much to all my reviewers and followers. It means a lot to me that you are enjoying the story!**

Veronica had offered to let Betty ride along to Riverdale with she and Archie—she'd be taking a driver, which promised a more leisurely drive. The day before they were to leave, she was over in Betty's apartment, lounging on her bed while Betty attempted to pack. The closet door was gaping open, spewing clothes across the floor and over the bed. All the dresser drawers were open, and the plastic totes normally stored under Betty's bed were rolled out with the lids removed.

Veronica lay on her back next to Betty's open suitcase, texting Archie and only half paying attention to Betty's meltdown.

"I haven't seen most of these people in years! Since graduating high school! I don't want to schluff in there looking all gross."

"You couldn't look gross if you tried. These people don't matter, Betty, don't sweat it. Besides, we'll be there like two days. The only thing you really need to stress about is the festival, right?"

Betty pulled a new sweater on and studied herself in the full-length mirror.

"Yeah, so what do I wear to this stupid festival? I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have said I'd go. Do you think this is a mistake?"

Veronica looked up from her phone and they made eye contact in the mirror.

"Betty," she said gently, sitting up. "It makes no sense for you to be stressing about some lame festival. But if what you're really nervous about is seeing a certain Mr. Jones again…"

"No, V, no way. That's not it," Betty turned from the mirror to face her friend, adamantly shaking her head. "This has nothing to do with Jughead."

"You are so in denial."

"I am not!"

"You so are! Look, Betty, he was your first real boyfriend and your first love and he cheated on you with that gross skank and broke your heart. You never got to confront him about that. It makes sense that you'd want closure; you have nothing to embarrassed about. How could you _not_ be nervous about seeing him again?"

Betty sighed and didn't answer. She knew there was no use arguing with Veronica once her mind was made up, and she also knew, deep-down, that Veronica was right. With every top she tried on, she was picturing the look on Jughead's face when he saw her in it.

"So what's our objective, B? Make him regret ever losing your or make him want to jump your bones?"

Betty laughed.

"How are those different?"

"Well we can remind him of the Betty you were or show him the Betty you are now."

Betty slumped to the bed next to Veronica and huffed out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't see how it matters if I can't find a single thing to wear."

"Tag me in," Veronica said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and strolling over to the closet. "I got this, B."

When Betty emerged from the hired car at the festival the next evening, she was shocked at the way Pop's had been transformed. Where previously was a gravel lot surrounded by trees with Pop's nestled against the far tree line, was now a collection of tents, food carts, and a large wooden stage. Lights were strung over the whole scene like stars, draped down low over people's heads. At the loss of the parking lot, a second lot had been created about a mile away and there were horse-drawn carts of hay transporting people to the scene.

Betty rode in with Veronica and Archie, her stomach hollow and twisting, rubbing her hands together nervously and tuning out Veronica's excited chatter. She was giving last-minute direction to Archie about their performance while he nodded patiently, black guitar case leaned against his knees, and tugged at the tight collar under his tie.

Betty's knees were pressed together. According to Veronica's expert styling, she wore gold sequined high-waisted shorts under a burgundy, velvet peplum top with a low, square neckline. Her legs were kept a little warmer in sheer black nylons and she had borrowed Veronica's black over-the-knee heeled boots. Her gemstone earrings were chunky and geometric but only visible if she tucked the sleek blonde curtain of her hair behind her ear. Her eyes were smoky and thickly lined but her lips were merely covered with a clear sheen. She felt sexy and sophisticated and powerful, but also a little cold in the crisp autumn air. Her hands were plunged deep into the pockets of a long, loose black pea coat, and she brought the two flaps together over her body, warding off the cold.

From the moment the car door opened until she finally saw him, her eyes searched constantly for the one person she was most nervous and most anxious and most excited to see. When their cart arrived at the festival lot, Betty stood and brushed the hay from the rear of her coat. She reached for the side of the cart to steady herself as she climbed down, but instead a warm hand gripped her forearm and Sweet Pea helped her down.

"Hey, Babe," he said softly so only she could hear, smiling at her warmly, his thumb brushing sweetly against her arm before he dropped it. "You look incredible."

The look in his eyes, coupled with her nerves, made Betty return his smile and look away before the heat spreading in her belly could lead her to do anything stupid, like pull him into the trees behind Pop's and go to town.

"Archie. Veronica." Sweet Pea greeted them both stiffly. Only Veronica knew of their frequent meetings, and she returned his greeting kindly before she and Archie walked off to enjoy the festivities.

Betty heard a familiar voice behind her and, when she turned, Adam was loping up.

"You made it! It's good to see you," he grinned, pulling her into his side with one arm for a hug.

"Yeah, you too. You know Sweet Pea?" she turned to gesture to him but he'd already stepped forward and slightly in front of her with tight eyes, one hand extended to grip Adam's in a vice.

"You're a Serpent," Adam observed, shaking his hand.

"That's right."

"Maybe I'd like to talk to you about that some time."

"Oh yeah?"

"Sweets," Betty interrupted quickly, stepping up to them. "Adam is playing Jughead in the TV show. That's how we know each other. He only means you might be a useful person to talk to."

Adam's eyebrows twitched down and he looked back and forth between them quizzically.

"Yeah. That's all I meant," he said slowly. "How did you say you guys knew each other? Through Jughead, right?"

"Yes," Betty confirmed. She felt her cheeks flushing as Adam looked between them, clearly seeing something there that he wasn't meant to. The two of them were never seen in public. They were not well-practiced in keeping whatever they had together a secret. She looked intentionally into his eyes, willing him to leave it alone. He smiled at her.

"Jughead's here, want me to call him over?" Adam turned to scan the crowd as if he meant to do just that.

"No," Betty blurted out. "I'll find him. Later."

"Plenty of time for that," Sweet Pea said.

"Sure, of course. Well, see you both around. Betty, break a leg on stage tonight."

Betty and Sweet Pea wove together through the rows—there were games and crafts and photo booths and every kind of food imaginable—all free to the residents of Riverdale. Sometimes Betty recognized someone and they stopped to catch up, but mostly she and Sweet Pea kept to themselves. Neither of them liked crowds, and Betty was feeling increasingly nervous about her song. Every once in a while, Sweet Pea would brush her hand with the backs of his fingers. Finally, Betty caught his hand when he went to do it again and turned to face him, holding his hands in hers.

"I'm nervous, Sweets."

"About the song?"

"Yes."

"Because of everyone or because of him?"

"What does that mean?"

Sweet Pea pulled her into a darkened space beside Pop's and dropped her hands.

"You've been looking for him since you got here, Betty."

"I have not," she insisted, crossing her arms, huffing, looking off into the crowd.

"It's okay, you know."

"I haven't been."

"Betty," he leaned in, backing her up until she felt her back connect with the side of the restaurant. "I know you're used to lying _about_ me, but stop lying _to_ me. I'm not gonna get in the way, okay? I've been thinking about it since the last time we saw each other. Since I saw that song you're going to sing. I'm not going to try to stop you from being with someone else. Him or anyone. You don't belong to me. I get that."

Betty shook her head and started to argue, reaching for his face, but he caught her hand and lowered it between them, holding it in his.

"As long as you're willing I'm happy to keep meeting up. But I'm sure that's not what you want forever. I know there will be someone whose jacket you do want to wear."

"Sweets—"

"No, listen. Jughead's just over there. I can see him coming out of Pop's."

Betty couldn't keep herself from turning to see him, finally, relieved to know where he was so that she didn't have to continue feeling like he was watching her somehow. Instead, Archie walked out the front door and down the steps. She spun back to Sweet Pea.

"What the hell?"

"Do you not realize how badly you want to see him?"

But she already did see him. Over Sweet Pea's shoulder, up the aisle, she could see him talking to Adam. He looked exactly the same. His dark hair curled once across his forehead and draped toward his light eyes. He was half-smirking and shaking his head. His style of dress had not changed, but the pieces themselves looked more expensive. He wore plaid skinny-legged pants and suspenders that hung to his knees; his boots were black and dusty. He was wearing his Serpents jacket and it was zipped up. Betty's stomach twisted painfully and she fought to keep her breath steady.

"Thank god he finally stopped wearing that stupid beanie." Sweet Pea had turned to see who she was staring at, but he faced her again, eyebrows raised knowingly. Betty blushed and tore her eyes away.

"It's okay," he insisted. "Do you want me there when you talk to him?"

"No. I mean, I'm not sure I will talk to him," Betty said.

"You will," he answered. "It's why you're here."

Sweet Pea winked at her and turned to walk away.

"Break a leg, Betty," he called back to her. "I'll be watching."

Betty performed after Archie and Veronica; she and Veronica passed each other as Betty took the stage, Archie remaining where he was on his stool. Betty's ears rang. The sound of the emcee's voice introducing her was muffled and far-off. She tried not to scan the crowd. She was terrified of what would happen if she happened to see him. She wondered if he was seeing her for the first time or if he'd noticed her before as she had him. If she saw him, if their eyes locked and she felt him with her, she wouldn't be able to do this. She glanced over at Archie and he'd already begun to play. She could barely hear his strumming. She chanced a look out into the crowd and, mercifully, caught Sweet Pea's eye. His mouth twitched up and he nodded to her. She closed her eyes and forced her pounding heart into the back of her mind, willing the guitar to the forefront, breathing until her senses had rebalanced themselves. When her entrance came, she opened her eyes.

Something told me it was over  
When I saw you and her talking  
Something deep down in my soul said, "cry, girl"  
When I saw you and that girl walking around

I would rather, I would rather go blind, boy  
Than to see you walk away from me, child, no, ooh

So you see, I love you so much  
That I don't wanna watch you leave me, baby  
Most of all I just don't  
I just don't wanna be free now, ooh, ooh

I was just, I was just, I was just sitting here thinking  
Of your kiss and your warm embrace, yeah  
When the reflection in a glass that I held to my lips now, baby  
Revealed these tears that are all on my face

And, baby, and, baby  
Baby, I'd rather be blind, boy  
Than to see you walk away, walk away from me, yeah  
And, baby, baby, baby, I'd rather be blind, boy  
Than to see you walk away, walk away from me

 **A/N: If anyone is curious or interested, the song Betty is singing is "I'd Rather Go Blind" by Etta James. Dua Lipa does a fabulous cover of it, which can be found here:** watch?v=Dnu1P0rzpmY

 **This chapter was a little tricky for me since so much had to happen logistically in a short amount of time (hence the chapter length), but I hope it at least keeps the plot moving forward. Please let me know what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

_Something told me it was over_

 _When I saw you and her talking_

Betty had felt a surge of jealousy the first time she saw them interacting with one another, Jughead and Toni. Jughead had been sheepish and eager to placate Betty, touching her too much—an arm around her shoulders, a hand on her waist—in a way that might have been meant to prove something to Toni, only Betty could tell it was intended for her. Toni's eyes had always tightened incrementally when she looked at Betty, and something in her tone turned hard when she was forced to address her. Talking to Jughead, however, she was furtive glances from under her made-up lashes and the constant pursing of her full lips. Betty had hated the intense, burning envy she'd felt toward Toni. She knew, even under different circumstances, they could never have been friends. Her mind swirled with dark, horrible thoughts: no one had wanted Jughead before she'd started dating him; she'd given him a confidence that other girls found alluring. How could Toni ever do for him what Betty did? Betty had gritted her teeth and scarred her palms looking at Toni's perfect hips and long, lean stomach through a ribbed tank top. Seeing that torso pressed to Jughead's the day she'd caught them together was something Betty thought about often, even still.

 _I would rather, I would rather go blind, boy_

 _Than to see you walk away from me, child, no, ooh_

It was pride that had kept from the necessary closure at the end of everything. For the first few days she'd been so angry, barely able to speak without her voice roaring into an unbridled fury. She'd been embarrassed and betrayed but, most of all, she resented that Jughead had proven her feelings of jealousy right. She'd never wanted to be a horrible, nagging girlfriend, and he'd gone and proven that she was right to be just that. After the anger, though, Betty had been forced to confront the fact that Jughead was gone. Her ribs felt hollow and huge; her chest throbbed so badly she thought other people should have been able to see it. She would lie awake with her phone gripped tightly in front of her face, willing him to text her. She left her window open well into the fall when the cold air left her waking with a throat of knives, because she hadn't wanted anything to keep him from getting to her if he'd changed his mind. Only he hadn't. Of course he hadn't. Why would he? He'd chosen the Serpent life—Toni was part of a matching set.

 _So you see, I love you so much_

 _That I don't wanna watch you leave me, baby_

 _I was just, I was just, I was just sitting here thinking_

 _Of your kiss and your warm embrace, yeah_

Jughead's lips were warm and soft, so sweetly tentative against hers. Even as they'd grown closer and more confident together, it had always been Betty who instigated things between them. Jughead had never pushed her. Seeing Toni on his porch, Betty had wondered if it was because he hadn't needed sex from her—he was getting it elsewhere.

 _And, baby, and, baby_

 _Baby, I'd rather be blind, boy_

 _Than to see you walk away, walk away from me, yeah_

 _And, baby, baby, baby, I'd rather be blind, boy_

 _Than to see you walk away, walk away from me_

All she could think, as she sang on that stage in front of the entire town, many of whom hadn't seen her in years, since she was still a child, was that she could not cry. Betty knew if she even started to lose it, it would be infinitely obvious in her voice. This moment was meant to be a triumph for her, not an embarrassment.

It was in the midst of this thought that her eyes finally landed on him. He was near the back of the crowd, in the shadows, leaning against the counter of one of the food cards. There was something in his hands turning over and over, but his eyes were locked on hers. He was staggered. She could see it clearly on his face. His lips were parted and he frowned as if in pain. When he realized she was looking at him, seeing this, he snapped his mouth shut and his face became an unreadable mask.

And Betty, trapped with him in that moment, instantly regretted being the one to cause him pain. She longed to stretch up on her toes and take his face in her hands, smooth the worry away as she'd once done, kiss him softly, burrow into his narrow, toned chest, feel how much he needed her.

When it was all over, she nearly stumbled down the steps from the stage into the gravel below. Veronica was speaking to her but she pushed past her and skirted the crowd, walking straight toward Pop's front doors and then veering abruptly to the right and disappearing past the line of trees. She choked on a sob in her chest but there were no tears. Betty wished she had her coat but she'd taken it off before her song. It was dark now, and her breath blew out in front of her as she tripped deeper into the woods.

"Betty," a voice called, and she realized how badly she wanted it to be his, but it wasn't. Sweet Pea jogged after her.

"Hey, stop," he said, reaching her side and grabbing her arm. "Where are you going? It's dark; you could get lost."

"I won't get lost," Betty insisted, numbly trying to shake his hand from her arm.

"Jesus, you're freezing. Here, take my jacket."

"I don't want it. I'm not cold." She'd stopped, unable to continue with him holding her arm, but she didn't look up at him. She watched their breath mixing between them.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, his voice low, almost cracking.

Betty looked up now, incredulous. "For what? You've done nothing wrong."

"I'm sorry he hurt you."

"That's not even a little bit your fault."

"I'm still sorry."

Betty felt herself slipping and she leaned into his chest, his arms tightening around her. His chin rested atop her head.

"I should be apologizing to you," Betty said against his shirt, gripping it in her hands.

"And why's that?"

"I haven't been fair to you. I've been using you to fill a void and that's all."

Sweet Pea pushed her back to grin down at her. "I haven't minded filling your voids, Baby."

It made her laugh, smile and shake her head.

"I mean it," she said. "I should have apologized a long time ago. Or, better yet, not treated you like shit in the first place."

"I don't feel that way, but if it'll make you feel better then I accept your apology."

Betty leaned up and touched her cold lips lightly to his, crossing her arms over her chest for warmth. He didn't try to deepen the kiss. Sweet Pea smiled at her and dipped his head.

"Call me if you ever want to have really good sex again."

"I will," Betty laughed.

"Bye, Betty."

He turned and walked back out the way he came. She knew that he knew that this time had been different. She knew that he knew she wouldn't call again. Betty took a step further into the forest, unsure what she was looking for but certain she'd know it when she saw it.

"Well," a voice said from behind her, and her gut twisted hard and punched to the front of her stomach. "That explains a few things."

She closed her eyes, rooted to the spot, unable to turn. She couldn't breathe. She heard his footsteps finding her in the dark and still she couldn't turn to face him.

"Hi, Betty," Jughead said, reaching her side.

"Hi, Juggie," she whispered.


	8. Chapter 8

Betty sensed him next to her; not being able to touch him made her feel sick. She felt drunk—her legs were trembling and her stomach turned, her head pounded. She squeezed her eyes shut and rotated her body so that she was facing him. Betty opened her eyes.

He looked so betrayed. Try as he might with the false bravado, Jughead never had been able to hide his pain well. He was an open book. It was part of what she loved about him—the heart on his sleeve.

"You didn't have to do it like that," he said, breathless from catching up with her. "You could have talked to me instead of this _scene_ in front of the entire town."

"Like you talked to me?" Betty demanded. "Like you worked things out so neatly instead of just fucking Toni?"

His eyes narrowed. Betty saw the muscles in his jaw ripple.

"Are we really going to do this right now?" he hissed.

"Why not?"

"I'm on to read in eight minutes."

"Oh, keep them waiting," Betty seethed. "You're the main fucking event; no one's going to leave without getting to hear _Jughead Jones_."

His mouth snapped shut and his nose yanked up at the corner like a snarl. Betty felt so many things at once—hurt, betrayal, anger, longing, even relief. He was so close to her she could have touched him. She stared into his clear blue eyes and wanted to scream.

"I get to be like this, Jug," she choked out. "I get to be petty and childish and cause a scene. You owe me that."

"Maybe I do."

Someone at the edge of the woods called his name. He half turned to see and then faced her again.

"I have to go."

"So go."

"Betty," he pleaded, his face suddenly so earnest, so close to hers she could feel his breath and smell him.

"What," she breathed, almost unable to answer. An enormous shiver wracked her body and his hand shot out automatically; he snatched it back before touching her.

"Please don't stay out here," he said, his voice kind but firm like reasoning with an elderly parent. "Please. It's dark and cold."

"I can't be back around all those people," she pleaded, realizing she was pleading, realizing that he had all the control and she had none and wanting him to hold her and warm her and make everything okay.

"Here," he said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a set of keys. "It's not to the bike," he insisted, seeing the look on her face. "I have a truck. Take it. We can meet up later."

Betty didn't take the keys. She swallowed hard, shaking her head.

"Roni and Archie and I are leaving town tomorrow morning."

His whole face went soft with grief and it broke her heart.

"You can't leave until we talk, Betty. Please."

She couldn't speak. She shook her head again. _Hold me. Kiss me. Keep me safe. Tell me you love me._ Her mind echoed over and over again, her fingers twitching for him but pressed firmly under her crossed arms.

"You have to meet with me, Betty. You can't just leave again until we talk."

Over his shoulder the emcee was saying his name into the microphone, asking that he meet at the southside of the stage. He huffed in frustration and looked at her pleadingly.

"Okay, look, you don't have to say anything now. Just meet me at my studio if you want to talk, okay? Tomorrow before you leave. Don't worry about waking me; I get up early these days. Just promise me you'll think about it."

Betty nodded mutely, still unable to open her mouth, afraid every thought in her head would come tumbling out.

He coughed out a relieved laugh that made her heart jump. In a million years Betty never would have guessed that she could make him smile like that again.

"Okay. Okay, good. 2257 W Aspen. You got that?"

She nodded again, the corner of her mouth pulling up in an attempt to return his smile.

"I gotta go," he said, backing up the way he'd come. "You should too. It's cold."

Betty watched him turn to leave, jogging back out between the trees. She didn't wait around to hear him read. She slipped back into the clearing, instantly spotted by Veronica, who brought her her coat, tilting her head and smiling sympathetically, rubbing her hand over Betty's frozen arm, looking back at Archie, who stayed for Jughead, as she walked out of the crowd with her friend, murmuring comfort into her ear.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: As always, I'm so appreciative for your follows and reviews! I'm working on another Bughead fic, though the next will be AU. I don't want to start that one until I wrap up the few I've already got going at once, but I'm really excited about it. Please let me know what you think of Jughead and Betty FINALLY getting to air some shit out! I've tried to reward your incredible patience by giving you a slightly longer chapter this time!**

The next morning, Archie and Veronica dropped Betty off at the curb in front of 2257 W Aspen street. She turned to wave them off, the storefront pharmacy window illuminated behind her as the storeowner was unlocking the door. She craned her neck to see up to the second floor, but all the windows were drawn. A bell over the door dinged as she walked into the pharmacy.

"Morning, Miss," the proprietor called, rounding the counter where he'd stashed his keys. "Can I help you with anything?"

"I'm here to see someone. Jughead Jones."

"Oh, sure. He lives above the store. Can't get up there from here, though—you've got to go back outside. There's a door that opens on some stairs. Just take those up to the loft."

"Of course," she smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

Betty's heart was pounding as she pulled open the old, heavy door and mounted the steps, which creaked under her weight. They were so steep and the steps themselves so shallow that she had to grip the railing to steady herself. Though, truthfully, she might have had to do so regardless of the condition of the steps. She reached the landing and a short hallway with two doors. The first was just to her right at the top of the stairs. She gulped in a few breaths, rolled her shoulders back, and knocked on the door.

A moment later, Jughead opened it, his face sincerely surprised. He was wearing jeans and dark socks and a thin t-shirt. His hair was still damp and clung to his forehead.

"Betty," he exclaimed in surprise. "Come in."

He stepped aside and she entered the small studio apartment. It was nothing like she'd expected—all wood floors and white walls. The entire opposite wall was windows that looked out onto the street. To her left was a small kitchenette, and a dinning nook was set into the opposite wall. The middle of the room was dominated by a large area rug, television, couch, and coffee table. To her right was a door that led, presumably, to the bathroom, and at the front right of the space was a raised platform surrounded by slate gray curtains. Betty could only assume this designated Jughead's bedroom. Aside from a laptop and open notebooks spread on the coffee table and an impressive Blu-ray collection visible through the glass doors of the entertainment center, nothing about the open, well-lit space screamed Jughead Jones. It was small, but still quite a step up from FP's trailer in terms of aesthetics and cleanliness.

"Wow, Jug. This is really nice," she admitted, letting her bag fall from her shoulder to the floor just to the right of the door.

"Thanks. Can I take your coat?"

"What? Oh, no. I won't be here long," she asserted, but she knew that Archie and Veronica were well on their way back out of Riverdale by then and she would need to figure out a ride by the time she decided to leave.

"I'm surprised to see you," he admitted, walking around in front of her after he'd closed the door. "I wanted you to come but I didn't think you would."

"Yeah, well. I thought I should."

"Do you want some coffee or anything?" he asked, walking toward the kitchen counter where a pot had finished brewing.

Betty started to say no, but then realized having something to sip between statements would buy her some time, as well as giving her a prop to focus on when things got uncomfortable, so she accepted.

"Still drink it with milk?" he called over as she stepped deeper into the apartment, scanning his movies.

"Yes," she answered, her chest throbbing as she thought of sitting in FP's trailer—at the table, on the couch, on the living room floor—with steaming mugs, late at night, working on things that had been, at the time, life or death with the person she'd loved most.

She shoved her hands into her coat pockets and scuffed the toe of her boot against the wooden floor, pretending to be so focused on Jughead's movies that she didn't notice when he came back with two warm mugs.

"Here," he held one out toward her and gestured at the couch. Betty perched lightly at the very edge of the far-right cushion, nearer to his bed, and Jughead settled back on the far one nearer to the kitchen and dinner table. There was momentary silence as they each sipped their hot coffee, then Jughead cleared his throat.

"I need to apologize."

"Oh?"

"I was totally unfair to you last night, Betty. You had every right to do what you did—with the song and everything. You were right. Everything you said was right. I don't get to decide how you grieve and it was unfair of me to get pissed."

" _Grieve_?" Betty asked, her chin jutting forward accusatorily.

"I mean…yeah. You know, over us. Over our relationship."

"'Grieve' though? Really? I thought you were supposed to be some kind of Wonder Boy Writer."

"Okay, shit. Not 'grieve', then. What would you call it?"

"I don't know, Jug. But it was years ago and it was puppy love, not someone's death."

"It didn't feel like years ago last night. And you know it was more than that."

Betty scoffed and rolled her eyes to the windows. Behind the slatted blinds she could see the cold morning light.

"Look," Jughead huffed out a frustrated breath and swallowed hard. "I don't want to fight with you. But if that's what you need to get this done, to have closure, then I will."

"What makes you think I need closure?" she demanded.

"How could you not?" he snapped. "I have so much to say to you and I'm not the one who got royally fucked so I can imagine you have some shit you want to say to me, too."

Betty closed her eyes, swallowing back hot, angry tears that she refused to cry in front of him, and gripped her mug in both hands.

"Say whatever you need to say to me, Jughead Jones," she breathed. "You asked me to come by—you begged me—and I did. So just say what you want to say."

"I'm sorry I keep losing it," he muttered, his voice soft again. He slouched back against the couch, no longer facing her. "I'm treating you like shit right now and I'm sorry. This is hard for me, too."

"The way you're treating me right now is hardly new."

"…I guess I deserve that."

It was quiet again. Betty studied his profile as he looked intentionally at the blackened TV screen or at the windows or at something past the blinds that Betty couldn't see. She felt sick. The coffee hit her empty stomach and festered there. She felt guilty for hurting him, but she also felt angry and entitled. The angular planes of his face were hard, skin stretched taught over his clenched jaw and the vein twitching in his forehead. His blue eyes were dark. Betty was determined not to be the one to speak first. She sipped her coffee. She sat back against the couch in the same manner as Jughead and looked straight ahead.

"Betty," he whispered finally. "I was 16. I felt obligated to the Serpents. It didn't feel like a choice. And I didn't know how to reconcile you with the Serpents so I forced you out. It hurt me, too. I'm not gonna lie and say I wasn't into Toni. But I definitely wasn't 'over' you. I felt terrible for hurting you. And I missed you. For a long time."

"But Toni was your first."

"What?"

"You slept with her."

"Oh. Yeah."

"I thought this was supposed to be making me feel better," Betty said through tight lips, refusing to look at him though she could feel his eyes on her face.

"I never said I could make you feel better. But I'm trying to explain myself. I want to be honest with you."

"Why, Jug?" Betty demanded, shoving her coffee mug across the coffee table so that some sloshed out onto one of the journals. "Why after all this time, all of the sudden, do you feel like you're obligated to me somehow?" She stood up and walked purposefully to the door, but Jughead was right behind her. He reached out and slammed the door closed when she tried to pull it open.

"Let me go!"

"Please. Please stay. Please, Betty," Jughead gripped her arms and pushed her back, fingers tight through her coat. "What do you want me to say?" he begged. "What do you want me to say?"

Betty struggled against him but she didn't really want him to let go. He was stronger than he had been at 16. She thought of Sweet Pea's large hands pinning her down and caught her breath, imagining Jughead's instead. Imagining his blue eyes above her instead of Sweet Pea's brown ones. Imagining his leather jacket slumped on the floor. Imagining his lips on her neck, against her thighs. She closed her eyes and breathed heavily, relaxing into his grip. He dropped his hands. She didn't open her eyes but she could feel him standing in front of her.

"I want you to tell me why I wasn't enough," Betty said softly.

"You were."

"I want you to tell what she did for you that I couldn't do. I would have had sex with you, Jug. I was ready."

"You think the only reason I went with Toni was because she was willing to put out?"

Betty's silence answered his question. She heard him huff and felt his breath over her hair. Still Betty didn't open her eyes but focused on keeping her breathing steady.

"Betty, I really, really fucked up. I would do anything to go back and undo what I did. I have always regretted losing you."

She looked up into his eyes, so earnest and clear, and knew that she looked unsure and distrustful. She felt his fingers brush against the back of her hand.

"I would do anything. To go back and undo what I did," he said again, his voice low, dipping his chin to better see into her eyes. Betty opened her mouth to say something but didn't know what to say. Instead, shook her head.

Jughead reached up tentatively and touched her cheek with his fingertips. She leaned into his hand as he trailed his fingers along her jaw and cheekbones, her temple.

"Take your coat off," he said. "Stay a while."

Betty obediently tugged the buttons open and shrugged out of her jacket, handing it to him. He held it at his side.

"Betty," he whispered. She turned suddenly and walked back to the couch. She heard him sigh and turned her head to watch him hang her coat by the door and then walk back around to his place on the couch.

"You don't know me anymore, Jug," she said. "I'm not the same person I was when we were together."

"I know that. Neither am I."

"I'm not all sweet and innocent and virginal. I'm older now, you know? I've done things," she shrugged, gesturing uselessly with one hand.

He raised one eyebrow and his mouth tugged up partly at the corner like he might smirk at her the way he once had.

"Virginal?"

"Shut up. You know what I mean."

"I didn't expect you to wait for me, Betty," he said, fully teasing her now.

"That's not what I meant," she stammered in embarrassment, finding it difficult to meet his glittering gaze.

"Well what did you mean?"

"Just," she looked to him for help but he wasn't giving any. "I'm different. I think it would surprise you to know…I mean, I don't think you would have guessed I'd be…like I am."

"Betty," Jughead tilted his head. "What are we talking about?" She laughed tightly at the twinkle in his eye and the bright row of teeth flashing at her, but shook her head and looked away.

"Forget it, Juggie."

Something hitched in his chest and she looked back to see a strange, reverential pain in his eyes.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"You called me Juggie."

"Did I? I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be. Say it again."

"Jug?" Betty asked nervously, suddenly almost frightened by the intensity in his eyes, by the predatory lurch of his shoulders toward her.

"I've never let anyone else call me that," he answered. He slid over to her on the couch and took her face in his fingertips, so lightly, tilting her head.

"Betty," he whispered. "I would really, really like to know what you were talking about just now. I have a feeling I'd like this new Betty you're too embarrassed to tell me about."

"Jug?" she whispered again, almost inaudible, terrified but not strong enough to pull away. He swallowed, looking hard into her eyes.

"Yeah, Betts?"


	10. Chapter 10

Betty scrambled to her feet, moving her body back to the other side of the arm of the couch so that something was between her and Jughead. She moved quickly enough to verify, even from this distance, that Jughead had been leaning toward her, uncomfortably, unacceptably close.

"Bathroom?" she managed, the word sounding strangled in her throat. Jughead quirked his head in confusion and pointed to the one enclosed space in the small apartment, the one closed door. Betty knew that was the bathroom, of course, but somehow asking his permission felt not-quite-as-rude as simply lunging wordlessly into the other room. She wrenched the door aside and lurched in, pulling it closed behind her. When she flipped the light on, the bathroom fan also droned to life, being tied into the same switch on the wall, and Betty was grateful for the sound, that it could drown out her gasps. She let the toilet lid clank shut and spun to sit on top of it. She planted her elbows onto her knees and her temple against her fists and tried to remember how breathing had worked before she'd met Jughead Jones.

Even the smell of him was overwhelming. It took her back to cold pizza on FP's matted carpet, his hand tangled idly in her hair as they scribbled away on homework or stories for the newspaper silently and side-by-side. Then, just as quickly, she'd remember the look on his face as he glimpsed her over Toni's shoulder, and she'd feel sick. Good thing there was a toilet conveniently close. She held her breath when she heard Jughead's boots scuff against the hardwood floor outside the bathroom door, but then she heard the kitchen sink come on and slumped back again.

Betty pulled her phone out of her pocket, so glad it hadn't been left in her coat, and dialed her first contact.

"What's up?" Sweet Pea sounded a little surprised, and she was sure he'd thought she'd hold out at least a few more days before needing him again this time.

"Where are you?" she whispered.

"What?"

"Where are you? Are you in Riverdale?"

"Yeah, I'm here for the next few days. Why, want me to drive up tonight?"

"No, no, listen. Sweets, I'm at Jughead's."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, but Betty thought she could sense his jaw tightening.

"Okay..."

"I need you to come get me. Please. Archie and Veronica left, I'm trapped here, I can't be here anymore."

"What's the address?"

"It's Jughead's studio."

"Yeah, Betty, we're not that close anymore. I don't know where he lives."

Betty pulled her phone away from her ear and into her lap and swiped into her Notes for the address.

"2257 W Aspen"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen?!" Betty demanded, but he'd already hung up. She wasn't sure she could stand another fifteen minutes with Jughead. She wasn't sure she could handle another three.

When she pulled the door open, Jughead was just on the other side with his fist raised to knock and they both jumped.

"Jesus!" Betty shrieked, stumbling back."

"Shit, sorry. I was just seeing if you're alright."

"Yeah," she stammered, side-stepping around him and backing toward the door. "But, you know, something came up and I gotta go."

"What? What came up while you were on the toilet?"

"I just—something with a friend, needs my help. It's kinda urgent, so." She was taking her coat down from the hook by the door and shoving her arms into it as Jughead narrowed his eyes.

She recognized the frustration on his face, in the flare of his nostrils and his open mouth, one foot extended out to the side, but he didn't try to stop her.

"Alright, sure. Well I hope your _friend's_ okay."

"Yeah, thanks," Betty answered, pulling the door open behind her. "It'll all work out. Good to see you!" she lied, and congratulated herself on the World's Speediest Exit as she jogged down the wooden stairs and out into the street, around the building to wait for Sweet Pea in the alley. Maybe the exit had been obvious and uncouth, but she was out of that room, away from Jughead, sucking in crisp, morning air to flush him out of her system, and that's all that mattered.

Betty leaned against the brick wall of the alley, her mouth watering at the smells roiling out of the brunch nook across from Jughead's. Through the window, she could see couples and groups of girlfriends eating at white, pressed tablecloths, pushing their food around on large, square plates. She swallowed down her hunger and looked away to survey the street, but there wasn't much else to see. She wondered what Jughead was doing just above her but shook the thought from her mind. Just as it was occurring to her that she should have met Sweet Pea around the corner where Jughead wouldn't see them, his bike came roaring around the corner. He left it idling but kicked the metal stand down as she hurried up to him, avoiding glancing up to Jughead's windows. Sweet Pea didn't say anything, but his face was serious as he held out a helmet to her. It was the kind that covered her entire head and had a dark visor that came down over the face, so once she was crammed into it and gripping Sweet Pea's waist, she risked a glance upwards. She couldn't be sure, but thought she saw the twitch of the wooden blinds slipping back together. It didn't matter anymore—what did she care what Jughead thought? What did it really matter that _anyone_ saw her and Sweet Pea together?

His leg shifted against her to fold up the kick stand and then he backed them carefully back into the road and they sped off down Aspen street.

The enormous growl of the bike kept Betty from having to explain anything, but at the first read light Sweet Pea called over his shoulder.

"Where to?"

Betty didn't feel like she could ask him to drive her all the way home. She had intended to call a car to come for her at Jughead's but had panicked and called Sweet Pea instead.

"Can we go to your place?" she shouted over the engine.

Sweet Pea hesitated. "I'm not sure my place is quite up to Betty Cooper standards," he answered loudly.

"It's fine, Sweets, I'm sure it's great," Betty argued, but truthfully she had no idea what to expect.

The light turned green and they got going again, but Sweet Pea bellowed back to her, "you sure you don't want me to take you home?"

"It's too far," Betty yelled. Sweet Pea waited for another red light.

"It's not too far; it's no problem."

"Please, Sweets, just take me to your place?"

Sweet Pea lifted one hand from the handlebars and wrapped it over the arm encircling his waist, then squeezed.

"Okay," he agreed, and turned right at the light instead of going straight.

It didn't take them eight minutes to get to the Southside, and shortly after they rumbled up to an old white house.

"Did I wake you up?" Betty asked as it occurred to her what time it was and why Sweet Pea might have needed extra time to pick her up.

"Uh, kinda," he said, waiting for her before swinging off the bike himself. He glanced up at the house before lowering his eyes and leading her up to the front door, which was unlocked. Before they walked in, he stopped her.

"I live with roommates," he said.

"Okay?"

"Some guys from the Serpents."

"So what? I don't have a problem with the Serpents."

He started to say something else but opened the door instead and they went into a dim, dingy living room with blackout curtains over the windows so that it took Betty's eyes an extra minute to adjust.

There was too much furniture crammed into the space, like they had friends over a lot and didn't care much about feng shui. Betty could see a kitchen off in the back and there was a dining room to the left which had a long table and mismatched chairs. Sweet Pea reached back for her hand and she followed him upstairs, down the hall to the last door on the right, which was his room. He closed the door behind them and turned on her anxiously, watching her survey the room—the sagging bed, messy and unmade; the old posters on the walls; the open dresser drawers spitting up dark clothes.

Betty took it all in and then smiled at him.

"It's very 'you'."

Sweet Pea laughed.

"Should that offend me?"

"Not at all. Thank you for letting me come here. Sorry I kinda sprung it on you."

Sweet Pea tossed his keys and wallet onto the dresser and flopped onto the bed. Betty, unsure of herself in a strange room, remained standing, continued turning to take it all in.

"I meant not to call you again," she said.

"I know," he answered, watching her. His dark eyes were tight on her face and she pretended not to notice.

Betty stilled and looked at Sweet Pea, smiling, tipping her head endearingly to the side. They were silent for a moment. Sweet Pea propped himself up on his elbows and reached for her, pulling her down on top of him. Betty was laughing, rolling to his side, settling her hand under her cheek to look at him from the other pillow.

"I'm glad you called."

"Yeah?"

"You know I'm always glad when you call."

She smiled appreciatively.

"I didn't stay there, you know," she said, after a pause.

"Stay where?"

"With Jughead. I wasn't there last night. I went over this morning. Maybe twenty minutes before I called you."

The relief on his face was unmistakable. She reached out and pressed the length of her hand to his warm cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into it.

"I was pretty sure you'd fucked last night."

"I know."

"And that you woke up this morning and felt smothered and had to get the fuck out of there."

"Well, part of that is true."

"I'm glad it's that part that's true."

"Yeah?"

Sweet Pea draped his arm over the curve of her hip and rubbed his thumb against her back.

"So what did he say that set you off?"

"Nothing really," Betty answered, shifting her eyes away and dropping her hand from his face, tucking it back under her own face with the other. "I just didn't want to be there anymore."

"I get that."

Betty closed her eyes and nestled deeper into the pillow. She froze.

Not opening her eyes, she asked casually, "who did _I_ interrupt _you_ with?"

"Uh," Sweet Pea stammered, "what?"

Betty looked up at him.

"Your sheets smell like perfume."

He licked his lips and laughed once, a gust of breath, his mouth hanging open wordlessly. Betty laughed, but for real, and put her hand over the arm which was suddenly vice-like around her waist.

"It's fine, Sweets, I'm just asking. I'm glad you have someone."

"Yeah? I figured you wouldn't like it."

"Why not?"

"I mean, women just usually don't."

"Oh," Betty smiled tightly. "Well it's cool with me. We aren't 'official' or anything. No big deal."

"Betty," Sweet Pea propped up on his elbow and leaned in earnestly. "I thought we weren't going to see each other again. She came over last night for the first time in a long time. I swear. And we were too drunk to even do anything, nothing happened between us."

Betty raised an eyebrow.

"This mystery girl slept in your bed last night but you didn't have sex?"

"Yes, I know. But seriously. We had been at the Whyte Wyrm, we'd had a few too many drinks. Nothing happened."

"Yeah, okay, okay. I believe you."

"Good."

Sweet Pea settled onto his back and pulled Betty into his side. She pressed her cheek into his shirt and breathed in smoke and the tang of beer. She wrapped her arm over him, her hand just reaching the other side of his torso. His arm trailed down her side.

"I hadn't been with her like that in a long time," he said softly.

"I believe you."

"Not since we'd been seeing each other a lot."

"I never asked you not to see other people, Sweets, I'm not mad. Why would I be? We're not 'a thing,' we never were."

He was silent. Betty looked across at the back of his closed door, the _Fight Club_ poster tacked against it.

"Who is she?" she asked presently.

"Who?"

"You know who. This other girl."

"No one."

"Sweet Pea, come on. I'm just curious."

"No, no," laughter rumbled under Betty's ear. "I'm no idiot. She's not important. I got her out as soon as you called."

Betty stiffened. "She was still here when I called you? You had to kick her out?"

"Well yeah, you did kinda wake me up. We were out late, remember?"

"So...would you have had sex this morning, when you both woke up?"

His shoulders shrugged beneath her.

"If we were up to it. If we weren't too hungover."

They were quiet again.

"I'm sorry," Betty whispered, tucking her face down into his side. "That I fucked that up for you."

"Don't be," Sweet Pea answered. "I'd rather be with you anyway."


End file.
